


Broken Voices

by Siha



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-03
Updated: 2012-07-03
Packaged: 2017-11-09 02:26:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/450244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Siha/pseuds/Siha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Years after he blew up Kirkwall's chantry, years after war broke out, Anders is back in the city of chains for one man and one objective: salvation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Broken Voices

**Author's Note:**

  * For [destroythechantry](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=destroythechantry).
  * Inspired by [Love you to death](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/9645) by Eisblumen/destroythechantry/a really amazing person. 



> Look up the inspiration link for the original dabble (GO DO IT).  
> I looked at the picture again yesterday and it gave me all the feels again, so when I started listening to Broken Voices&Seven Devils today… this happened.
> 
> Let’s just say I’m appreciating this amazing artwork (which I am) by letting it wrack my head up (which it does) and that destroythechantry is fucking amazing (which she truly, truly is).

He's broken.  
Sick and twisted and sore and tired.  
His voice is barely more than a whisper.  
“How did you find me?”  
No answer.  
“Why are you back?”  
A question instead.

“Couldn't stay with Hawke.”

This is what broke him.

 

_This is what I decided  
For the first time in years  
To see your face again  
And honour old oaths  
It's what I decided  
This is my first and final choice_

 

He roams the street like a stray cat, shying at every movement.  
Although he looks so different, all distressed and dirty and desperate, he fears recognition.  
“They do not hate me,” he explains, his words heavy with guilt, “it's Hawke they think has done it.”  
It is truth he speaks.  
A bitter truth to him.

“Then why would you hide?”  
“I've never not hid. It's just an old habit.”  
And then he dashes off back into the corners he knows, the darkest part of the city, where he has settled before and where no rest is to be found.

 

_I've been a free man long enough now  
Put my wounded heart to sleep  
You promised me.  
You promised me.  
You promised me.  
And this is why I came._

 

The city doesn't care about him.  
He's just one more among too many.  
He's drawn to one man and one man alone, the mightiest among few.  
There is a lot they've been to each other.  
Strangers and stories, enemies and empathy.  
They are lovers, they are lost.

The heat is gone.  
These hands were meant to hold once, prone to grab and pull and want.  
No they want nothing but the echo of a touch, and these lips, they don't kiss anymore.

 

_You wake up screaming.  
I see it.  
I'm there.  
I worry.  
You just back to sleep.  
Your nightmares are back and it's my fault._

 

He drops by as he pleases, using the old tunnels.  
Sometimes he comes at night, sitting down on the edge of the bed, watching, guarding.  
Sometimes he comes by daylight, crawls under the sheets and falls asleep, watched, guarded.  
Most of the times he just slips in to say he has unfinished business, some last strings to attach.  
They play for time, but they have none.

He is a shadow. A ghost of what he used to be.  
Hard to believe that one could miss the old times when he was a nuisance and a threat and whatever hardship a man could be, but those times, those times are long gone and they are missed now.

 

_It's only when we fight  
That I feel you again  
Our first fight is relieving  
But it's not like back then  
We've lost the energy  
We're tired  
We're so tired of it all  
But we can't let go just yet_

 

Thedas is at war.  
Kirkwall's Templars move out soon, and he can't come with them. He just can't.  
He's been here for a few weeks maybe. His days are numbered, and they don't count much further.  
So he demands what he was promised, years ago, ages ago, a promise to be held, he demands it.  
He demands an ending.

“You promised me.”  
“I know.”  
“It's your duty.”  
“I know.”  
And then he runs again.

 

_Running is my nature, maybe  
And I am not sorry  
This is my choice  
My first and final choice  
I've always wanted freedom  
I won't die between walls_

 

He is off and gone again, but that is nothing new.  
Just disappointing to realize he is the same old coward way deep down, the same little gutter rat to frown upon, the same, just the same, the same man to fall in love with.  
Only different.  
Broken.

He doesn't get away this time.  
Hunting is easy when one knows where to look.  
A vial of blood shows traces, points like a compass needle. Hard to get to it, but there it is, little fragile thing, all glass and liquid.  
The war takes them. Destroys them.  
But this one, it survived, and the path is bright red.

 

_And there you are again  
And I don't dare to ask  
It does feel like betrayal  
But I guess it's not  
It's what you had to do  
It's what I had you do  
I've ruined you  
But I'm not sorry_

 

Snow coats the world in white. So innocent and pure.  
Maybe this is where he was born; no time to ask, no need to know.  
All that matters are two men who've killed for decades knee-deep in innocent white.  
Eyes lock when tongues fail to speak, and silent seconds fade into minutes as they draw closer.  
Step by step in the void of the storm.  
That storm is both of them, all raging and furious and cold.  
And it its centre they stand, and they're tired, they're so tired of all of it.

“So this is it?”  
“I promised you.”

 

_Now look at you with all your pride  
You're still no better than me  
Chasing down one man  
I sink into your arms  
All steel and cold, but strong  
Now look at you with all your strength  
Where did it get you?  
Down the abyss just like me_

 

He's grown so thin and weak.  
Beneath leather and fabric there's the ever so light pulse of his stupid little heart.  
What was it that he truly wanted?  
Why tie himself down to an oath like this when it was freedom he yelled for?  
Maybe even he cannot tell.  
His eyes are brown and clear. The shadows are gone and he is at peace.  
But it's a war he's started.

“You'll be fine.”  
“Of course I will.”  
“No, really. You'll be fine.”

 

_I don't care if you hate me  
Hate would mean that you care  
And you care  
You wrap your arms around me  
And look me in the eyes  
Don't you be sad  
We knew it all along, right?  
We knew it all along  
And we just didn't care_

 

He doesn't close his eyes.  
Instead, he stares upwards, way up to where the clouds float.  
He doesn't join the prayer.  
Instead, he smiles quietly, just for himself and just for the man he couldn't hate.  
The blade is sharp. It knows mercy.  
Everything is fast and smooth and over.  
The snow turns red with blood. Coloured with grief.  
He stares at the clouds with dead eyes.

No rest for the wicked.  
There is a realm full of demons waiting for him.  
But he's been there before, and surely, he'll be fine.  
Fine, too.

 

_This is the end for me  
But not for both of us  
And it wasn't me who ruined you  
You were broken long before I came  
You're broken now  
Thousands of pieces  
Praying for my soul  
I didn't break you  
I mend you through destruction_

 

No rest for the wicked.  
A prayer for a lover lost.  
A head wrapped in a piece of cloth to proof ones dedication for the Order's cause.  
A body cradled by layers of snow.  
A single tear for all that could have been prevented and all that stood no chance.  
A promise made.  
No rest for the wicked.

 

They could have led a happy life.

_But we met instead._

A promise kept.


End file.
